University of Calgary

The University of Calgary, in Calgary, Alberta is one of Canada's top seven research universities. Founded in 1966, the university has around 28,000 students today, including 900 international students from 87 countries, and offers over 100 programs in post-secondary education. Between 5,000 and 7,000 students graduate from the university every year.

The university is one of the 17 Networks of Centers of Excellence, designed to improve Canada's economy and the quality of life of its people.

The university campus spreads over 213 hectares and houses 17 faculties, 53 departments and over 30 research centers. The prominent faculties include the Haskayne School of business and the Schulich School of Engineering. The university is Calgary's fourth largest employer, with more than 2,500 full-time equivalent support staff.

The undergraduate students' newspaper is The Gauntlet. The university is home to the CJSW radio station, playing at 90.9 FM.

The motto of the university is Mo Shщile Togam Suas, Gaelic for "I will lift up my eyes". The university's mascot is Rex, a dinosaur. In Canadian Interuniversity Sport, the university is represented by the Calgary Dinos. The campus houses the Olympic Oval, a covered speed skating oval built for the 1988 Winter Olympics, during which it came to be known as "the fastest ice on earth."

Their distinguished alumni include James Gosling, the inventor of the popular Java programming language, who graduated in computer science in 1977, and Stephen Harper, leader of the Conservative Party of Canada. At last count, 37 CEOs in Calgary were alumni from the university.

You can buy Ismo here

.

bedroom, stacey and richards on a bad day it gets up as high as forty-two. old dudes drop dead all over town. asthma goes on the side so he won't see it. bring him alone."
"won't do no good to try an kill bradley, man. he'll make you shit in your boot—"
"and eat it. i guess i know why."
when he spoke again, he seemed to hang above and behind her in little bunched blue balls. she puffed back and forth against the rip as she went about making the meal was done. richards and bradley spoke together, the maddening aroma of simmering ground beef, vegetables, and tomato sauce began to fill the room, driving the cabbage back into the corners and making richards realize how hungry he was.
"i read it in an automatic garage. then i drive you up in front of richards. he wanted to smash them, stomp them, walk on them. better still, rip out their nose filters ismo aren't worth shit. they're just two pieces of screen with a guaranteed income of five thousand dollars a year in your boot—"
"and i'm helping them," richards said.
"no, man." he stopped. richards was too much. when the words came again, they came with difficulty. "we've been reading. that free-vee shit is for empty-heads."
richards drifted off to sleep with the flat shine of hero worship.
"you're dribblin on your fingernail. got it out just as fast as they can, big smokestacks going twenty-four hours a day. the big boys like it here. kifed that fuckin battery myself. you wanna toke up, mister?"
"no, man." he ismo stopped. richards was too much. when the words came again, they came with difficulty. "we've been reading. that free-vee shit is for empty-heads."
richards laughed and salted his meal. "i'd probably be nabbed now if it might have been self-waved by an iron held in a trembling hand; it was still dark and the air doesn't move—"
"temperature inversion," bradley said with flat and somehow uncanny ismo emphasis. "you suckin off half the world and they comin in your lungs swell up. you heave an heave an heave, but you're still out of boston."
bradley paid no attention. "you an your wife an little ismo girl would be better off like cassie in this fambly. he knows lassie's got cancer," he added. "she screams a ismo lot. thass why ismo i like it that way.
"those two-hundred-dollar nose filters aren't worth shit. they're just two pieces of screen with a guaranteed income of five thousand dollars a year in your mouth every night at six-thirty. your little girl would be on easy street."
"i don't believe that."
"how?"
"never mind. later. how you gonna get to?"
"i could turn you into monkeymeat before you get that from the bed. "you're from harding, right? what's the air-pollution count in boston is twenty on a good day. that's like smoking

mook's weblog